In the past few years, the internet has gone from "the gift that keeps on giving" to a cacaphonous bedlam of screaming-each-other-down-so-we-can-go-viral, wildly competing voices. The worst aspect of this is the mad competition to post a video of your kid having a meltdown and screaming in terror and grief, so that it can appear on the TV news and make the kid's parents vaguely famous for a day (until someone else comes along with a cuter, more traumatized kid). Never mind the one-year-old strapped to water skis that I recently saw: it was "his idea", of course, just like Jon-Benet begging and begging her mother to put her in beauty pageants when she was two. And just as safe . And never mind what the KID thinks when he/she is a little bit older, and the humiliating, shitty-pants, howling video shows up on her Instagram page, mocked and jeered at by her "friends". It's quite ironic that while internet fame is ridiculously fleeting, these videos are forever. There is really no such thing as "delete". (And with kids, there is no such thing as "choice"). The aptly-named viral video is truly a sick phenomenon, but who notices it? Who even says anything any more? Once more, we're frogs in hot water, chuckling away at the casual violation of a child's emotional wholeness for the sake of popularity and "fame".
Which leads me to something KIND OF related to this. Every time I look on YouTube, there are approximately one billion more videos on the subjects I am interested in: meaning that it is much HARDER for me to find anything I want. With no sort of filter on the quality/quantity of content, YouTube is simply drowning in its own material. I found a playlist with 1,697 videos in it just of old TV signoffs. You know: those things they used to have at the end of the broadcasting day before everyone went to 24 hours. (Too long ago for YOU to remember, of course.) I seldom saw them as a kid because I just wasn't up that late, except for the few times I was allowed (as a rare treat) to sleep on the pullout sofa in the den and watch Hoolihan and Big Chuck. But since they continued well into the '80s, I do remember signoffs and the strange things that happened in them, especially the religious messages - why on earth do we need a religious message before we turn off the TV? Is it like that awful prayer, "If I should die before I wake" - ? But even in the '80s, there were sermonettes and reflections and Thoughts for the Day, generally sappy and pretty excruciating. They usually rotated Christian and Jewish (but likely not Muslim) clergy for these, just to show they were Not Prejudiced and Jewish people maybe had something to say too, before the test pattern and the "booooooooooooooop" came on for the next six hours.
Sleeping in the den, if I was watching Canadian TV, which was not too bloody likely, there would be a nice version of O Canada with pictures of moose and squirrels and stuff, and Mounties doing the Musical Ride. But usually I'd have U. S. channels on. So I'd have to sit through the plodding, martial, heavy-handed American national anthem (which I now see has so many question marks in it that it should be called The Star-Spangled Banner?), in which the tune is almost as bad as the militaristic, violent, battle-inspired words. Sorry, American friends (especially YOU, and you know who you are), it's the anthem I hate and not you. In my present frame of mind, I despise ALL anthems, in fact. The very idea of one makes me squeeee-yuke.
So in clicking around amongst all these hundreds and hundreds of signoffs - most of them too recent to really please me very much - I once again ran into the above National Anthem Conspiracy Theory video. There are tons of them on YouTube. Like most conspiracy theories, it's stupid: people rabidly WANT to believe them because their lives are dismal and they feel like flops and failures as human beings. Or else they're just bored. Real life isn't spicy enough, they don't yet realize they're going to die, perhaps horribly - so they have to jack up their adrenaline by climbing the sides of buildings and stuff, and believing this shit.
Supposedly, way back in 1966 or whenever, The Government had someone doctor up the words on the screen to say all kinds of subliminal, authoritarian things (but only if you looked real fast). It's hard for me to wrap my head around the concept of displaying the lyrics of your own national anthem, to begin with. Unless English is your second or third language, you're going to know them already. You sing them at every sporting event, You would know them from childhood, along with putting your hand on your heart and reciting, "I pledge allegiance to Big Brother" (etc. etc.) I think you HAVE to know them to become an American citizen, don't you? So the whole idea of flashing the words across the screen, especially in such an ugly font, is pretty ludicrous, and may well be a hoax in itself.
Maybe if your brain works either really quickly or really slowly, you'd be able to somehow perceive all those Orwellian messages about God and the government and obedience and, most menacing of all, Naomi. (I am reminded of - oh, I've GOT to do a palindrome post soon, they'll get me out of this vile mood! - "I moan, Naomi", or even "'Naomi, sex at noon taxes', I moan".) But this probably isn't THAT Naomi. This is a Naomi meant to read backwards only.
If all this had worked, how do you account for the unprecedented upheaval in the social order in the late 1960s? Couldn't people read? Weren't they paying any attention to the subliminal messages? Reading them - actually reading words they had been singing since they were two? Several videos have debunked the subliminal messages as mere video doctoring, which of course never happens! How can you change a film? A film! Think of the Hanging Munchkin in The Wizard of Oz. There are STILL people who believe that sucker was there in the original film, and that the studio somehow blotted it out by superimposing a bird. Thus Judy Garland and her merry companions danced down the Yellow Brick Road with a dead human body just hanging there in the woods, in full view of the camera, the cast, the director and the technicians. Though it could very well be that the munchkin blotted out the bird. These things happen in the merry old land of paranoid mistrust.
The Star Spangled Banner Lyrics By Francis Scott Key 1814 Oh, say can you see by the dawn’s early light What so proudly we hailed at the twilight’s last gleaming? Whose broad stripes and bright stars thru the perilous fight, O’er the ramparts we watched were so gallantly streaming? And the rocket’s red glare, the bombs bursting in air, Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there. Oh, say does that star-spangled banner yet wave O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave?
On the shore, dimly seen through the mists of the deep, Where the foe’s haughty host in dread silence reposes, What is that which the breeze, o’er the towering steep, As it fitfully blows, half conceals, half discloses? Now it catches the gleam of the morning’s first beam, In full glory reflected now shines in the stream: ‘Tis the star-spangled banner! Oh long may it wave O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave! And where is that band who so vauntingly swore That the havoc of war and the battle’s confusion, A home and a country should leave us no more! Their blood has washed out their foul footsteps’ pollution. No refuge could save the hireling and slave From the terror of flight, or the gloom of the grave: And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth wave O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave!
Oh! thus be it ever, when freemen shall stand Between their loved home and the war’s desolation! Blest with victory and peace, may the heav’n rescued land Praise the Power that hath made and preserved us a nation. Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just, And this be our motto: “In God is our trust.” And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave!
Now, there are aspects of this that I find strange. Of course Americans don't go on and on singing EVERY verse of their national anthem. They make the first verse look like a walk in the park, and even speak of slavery in an ambiguous way (not to mention justifying conquest "when our cause is just").. But putting that aside, I find it strange that there are three question marks in the first verse, the one they DO sing at sporting events. I noticed this in the subliminal messages video, and thought it couldn't be right. I don't expect Americans to question things like this - oh, maybe they do, I'm just in a bad mood about Trump, and no doubt you are, too. HIM I question, and how he ever got so far.
Just for the sake of fairness, and because I don't really know the other verses, here's the Canadian one. We've been squabbling over the sexism of "in all thy sons command" for years now, wanting to substitute "in all of us" - which I wouldn't mind so much, if it didn't clang so badly in a lyrical sense. But it will probably happen anyway. At least it's better than the original suggestion: "in all of thy command", which demonstrates a jaw-dropping ignorance of the grammar of that line. In that version, Canada is somehow the one with (noun) "command". The actual meaning is in the imperative: "please, please, wonderful Canada, command true patriot love in all your sons (which includes sons with no wee-wee)!" It's the upside-down sentence structure that has people confused. But there are still people who argue bitterly with me about this. "All of thy command", indeed.
In the following version, there was an attempt at a literal/word-for-word translation of the French original, which came out about as well as these things usually do:
O Canada! Our fathers' land of old Thy brow is crown'd with leaves of red and gold. Beneath the shade of the Holy Cross Thy children own their birth No stains thy glorious annals gloss Since valour shield thy hearth. Almighty God! On thee we call Defend our rights, forfend this nation's thrall, Defend our rights, forfend this nation's thrall.
Now, HEY, this one reminds me so much of America the Beautiful that it just isn't funny. Amber waves of grain, and stuff. (I still haven't figured out what a "fruited plain" is.) O Canada! In praise of thee we sing; From echoing hills our anthems proudly ring. With fertile plains and mountains grand With lakes and rivers clear, Eternal beauty, thos dost stand Throughout the changing year. Lord God of Hosts! We now implore Bless our dear land this day and evermore, Bless our dear land this day and evermore.
And here you see our staunch ties with Britain, which existed until they weren't there any more. Which they aren't. But I do remember having to draw a Union Jack in school, and singing God Save the Queen.
O Canada, our heritage, our love Thy worth we praise all other lands above. From sea to see throughout their length From Pole to borderland, At Britain's side, whate'er betide Unflinchingly we'll stand With hearts we sing, ‘God save the King.’ Guide then one Empire wide, do we implore, And prosper Canada from shore to shore.
THIS one is getting closer to the final version, but it just goes on too long. O Canada! Our home and native land! True patriot love thou dost in us command. We see thee rising fair, dear land, The True North, strong and free; And stand on guard, O Canada, We stand on guard for thee. (Refrain) O Canada! O Canada! O Canada! We stand on guard for thee. O Canada! We stand on guard for thee. O Canada! Where pines and maples grow, Great prairies spread and lordly rivers flow, How dear to us thy broad domain, From East to Western Sea; Thou land of hope for all who toil! Thou True North, strong and free!
(Refrain) O Canada! Beneath thy shining skies May stalwart sons and gentle maidens rise, To keep thee steadfast through the years, From East to Western Sea. Our own beloved native land, Our True North, strong and free!
(Refrain) Ruler Supreme, Who hearest humble prayer, Hold our dominion within Thy loving care. Help us to find, O God, in Thee, A lasting, rich reward, As waiting for the Better Day We ever stand on guard. (Refrain)
And now, pant-pant-pant, here we are at the one we actually sing. Pared down immensely. It has been subtly changed through the years, particularly removing three or four "stand on guards" that really didn't need to be there. But I like it. I don't sing it very often because I don't go to sporting events. O Canada! Our home and native land! True patriot love in all thy sons command. With glowing hearts we see thee rise, The True North strong and free! From far and wide, O Canada, We stand on guard for thee. God keep our land glorious and free! O Canada, we stand on guard for thee. O Canada, we stand on guard for thee.
TOP-UP. I usually top these things up because I forget something, or else think of something else I want to tack on. My Dad, bless his sometimes-belligerent soul, was born in England and had not much patience with what he called The Americans. He especially did not like their anthem. How often I remember (over and over again, because he didn't seem to remember doing things) he would bellow his own version of the first couple of lines: O say can you see Any bedbugs on me? He generally ended his satirical version with "the land of the free, and the home of the slave." He had something there. I grew up in Chatham, which is in the Windsor-Detroit area and a settlement point for the Underground Railroad, a historic route of refuge for slave families. I didn't even know what it WAS until much later, as it was never once mentioned in school, though we had a high black population in Chatham. Each of my classes had at least 3 or 4 black kids out of 30, and sometimes more like 5 or 6. But nobody stopped to ask how that happened. As with the Royal York Hotel turning away George Gershwin because he was a Jew, Chatham turned away black history and virtually annihilated it - when it should have been a point of pride. So everybody got cheated. One wonders why humanity has such a tight grip on mean-spirited bigotry. It will be the death of us, I am afraid - and sooner than we think.
Note how our lovely flicker (a type of woodpecker) hammers away at the feeder. This sort of bird usually eats grubs and bugs. I have no idea why she showed up that day, or stayed so long. It was a sort of mystical experience.
I also had no idea a Steller's jay would eat suet, but the way he's going at it, I think he'd eat just about anything. I'm posting these here strictly so I can TRY to post them on Facebook.
Robin Williams: the terrorist in his brain About all I can say about this piece of writing (click on link, above) is that it's extremely important. When Robin Williams killed himself two years ago, he was, in essence, already dead. But by the time the true story came out (in the results of the autopsy, which took three months), everyone had moved on. When it happened, there were lots of editorials written about how he was a sad clown who killed himself because he secretly suffered from depression (as in "but doctor, I AM Pagliacci"). His suicide spawned a lot of fevered articles about how we really really have to stop stigmatizing mental illness because look what it can do, even to a rich and famous person (and it's REALLY not supposed to happen to them!). A few people claimed he was "selfish" and just moping over his career slowing down, throwing his life away to hurt his family. And I remember a lot of people flung up web sites and Facebook pages just to talk about their depression because they were sick and tired of being ashamed of it and hiding it, but those sites just kind of faded away after a while. At any rate, I don't see them any more. Here is what really happened.
Williams died from the effects of a horrible disease called Lewy Body Dementia. It devoured him, mind and body, frighteningly quickly. Though the symptoms caused his doctors to believe it was Parkinson's, it wasn't. It was something so much worse that I can barely get my head around it. I have no idea why anyone should have to go through such a hell on earth, and I believe he ended it while he felt he still could. Because no one had heard of Lewy Body Dementia and because people preferred to just see him as a sad clown and a poster boy for Reducing The Stigma, and because they had lost interest anyway, the public missed it almost completely. Robin Williams' widow wrote this eloquent piece, this cri du coeur about the hell they walked through together,for a neurological journal. They probably would not normally publish a piece by a non-neurologist. But this woman got a closer look at the ravages of Lewy Body than all of them put together. It is an incredible piece of writing, long, but it barely scratches the surface. It is almost unbearable to read because it brings home the fact that all our lives hang by a thread, all the time. It is a powerful truth, and it continues to be powerful whether we believe it or not.
1. n (Instruments) a trumpet or the sound produced by one 2. (Ecclesiastical Terms) the last trump the final trumpet call that according to the belief of some will awaken and raise the dead on the Day of Judgment 3. vb (Music, other) (intr) to produce a sound upon or as if upon the trumpet 4. (Music, other) (tr) to proclaim or announce with or as if with a fanfare 5. (intr) slang Brit to expel intestinal gas through the anus [from Old French trompe, from Old High German trumpa trumpet; compare trombone]
I have a pretty good idea whose woods these are, believe me.
And let me tell you something, my people say he’s a complete nobody.
This guy lives in the village. So what if he sees me stopping here?
I dare him to sue me! I dare him!
And by the way, this snow is pathetic.
These are by far, the least downy flakes ever!
I hear they had to import them from Canada.
I don’t know. Maybe they did. Maybe they didn’t. We’re looking into it.
My horse – he’s the most incredible horse, seriously,
I have the greatest, the classiest horses –
My horse doesn’t even know what the hell we’re doing here.
The horses love me though. They do.
They’re always shaking their bells at me, it’s very loving.
It’s a beautiful thing.
Let me tell you something, these woods are an embarrassment.
They’re not dark. They’re not deep. They’re nothing. They’re for losers.
And I cannot wait to sue this guy.
I cannot wait to sue this guy.
PLEASE NOTE. This is the way it appeared. You know as well as I do that
the poem is "Stopping BY Woods", not "by THE Woods". I'm sort
of hoping that's part of the satire and not ignorance on the part of Rottingpost.
(Please note. These gifs can run slow at first, or at least they do for me. Once they have gone through a full cycle, usually 10 or 15 seconds, they should run smoothly.) The first day I ever worked with the video camera, every bird in the neighborhood suddenly showed up - including some we had rarely seen before. This is a female flicker who has taken to the suet feeder. She hung around for quite a long time - oh, so beautiful, while I scrambled to capture video of her. I hadn't put the camera on the tripod yet and was wobbling all over the place. I don't know when we'll see her again.
Up close and personal with a Steller's jay. These guys are frequent visitors and tend to gulp and guzzle the seeds, quickly emptying out the feeder. They are so beautiful, almost as mystical at the flickers.
We were amazed that the flicker hung around for so long. In this case, it flew down and pecked at the crack in the door. Flickers are a kind of woodpecker and would normally go after grubs in the ground. This time it actually used the feeder (very briefly), hammering away at it.
Squirrels! We have three baby squirrels living in the back yard. This happens every year. They were likely born in the spring and are SO CUTE that we can't bear to keep them away (like so many bird-feeding people try to). We couldn't believe they'd go after suet or be able to get to it. Obviously they can. Occasionally we get fat bushy-tailed grey squirrels, and even the odd red squirrel which is particularly adorable.
We have tons of juncos in the yard. This is an example of a particularly handsome male. They just hang around and eat, mostly the fallout from the feeder. They are easygoing and don't attack each other, believing there is plenty to go around.
And this is the miracle - even more miraculous than the appearance of the flicker. This is a spotted towhee, a bird we have only rarely seen, and always on the ground. Not sure why so many amazing birds showed up when I was using the video camera for the first time!
(Note: these videos were made last summer. Thus the shorts.)
This afternoon my husband and I went to one of our all-time-favourite places: Burnaby Lake, a sort of Shangri-La by the Shore that never fails to calm and thrill me at the same time.
Our favorite spot on Burnaby Lake is called Piper Spit. This is a large expanse of shallow water, a kind of wetlands on the margin of the lake, with a long dock for walking. At the end of it is a sort of round viewing area which gives you a great view of whoever happens to be making an appearance on that day.
We've seen sandhill cranes, dowitchers, wood ducks, Canada geese, blackbirds, cowbirds, mallards, some sort of diving bird we can't categorize, and probably a few dozen more species that move so fast or hide so well that we can't make them out.
The red-winged blackbirds, though - they are very special to me, ever since I realized that they will, when the mood strikes them, fly down and eat right out of your hand. As a little girl I would have fallen over with ecstasy at this, as I was always chasing after wild birds and never catching them. Someone had told me that if I put salt on their tail they would sit still for me, but somehow it never worked.
Today, the blackbirds were skittish and uncooperative. That was fine, because birds have a sort of group mood (like humans, who are also flock animals, though far less intelligent and perceptive). You see mostly juveniles who were born in the spring at this time of year, and they're wisely mistrustful of humans. The great gorgeous mature males seem to have no fear. More than once, I have had a blackbird in each hand, with other blackbirds trying to dislodge them. But for some reason, today the bold birds had taken off to parts unknown.
I had the seeds in my hand, I could HEAR the birds make that lovely "squinge" sound that just seems to open up Paradise, I could see them flitting about in the tree tops. I walked back and forth for a long time with my hand held out, and probably looked a bit foolish. But they weren't coming down. Only two weeks ago I'd had a juvenile male eating out of my hand. Oh well. I was about to give up on the whole thing, when. Where. Did. This. Guy. Come. From.
This was a "type", not a person. Big, husky, moustached. His belly seemed determined to take up more than its allotted amount of space. It was taking up a separate universe. He seemed "Important" in some obscure, overinflated way (in other words, FAT), like an unofficial Park Guide or Ranger Smith-type. I could almost see his Captain Marvel badge beneath his sagging sweats.
He walked up behind me and just stood there, freaking me out.
"No. No. No. They like black oil sunflower seeds." That was the first thing he said to me. This guy didn't say "hello" or tell me his name. Not even a friendly wave. Maybe his name was They Like Black Oil Sunflower Seeds, but it didn't seem very likely. It seemed more likely that his opening line was advice, based on the fact that I obviously didn't know what the hell I was doing and desperately needed him to set me straight.
"You gotta get some black oil sunflower seeds. You should get rid of that stuff you're trying to feed them, they won't take it." (They had "taken" it a dozen times, eagerly, in the past.) "Or you can maybe try picking some of the sunflower seeds out of that stuff you have. No, I mean right away, do it now! Try it!" Feeling hypnotized by his mediocrity, I actually made a feeble effort to pick out a few sunflower seeds before thinking, screw you.
"That guy is super-friendly" (pointing to one of the more shy birds in a treetop, one that was basically indistinguishable from all the others. In other words: if that bird is 'super-friendly', and I am not - unlike every other bird-lover on the planet - attracting him, I am either innately repellent to blackbirds or just so inept that any bird worth its salt would stay away from me and my wormy seeds.) The way he said it, "super-friendly", had a funny kind of imperative inflection: 'I told you not to do that!", like a weird sort of accusation.
His parting shot was, "Don't shake your hand" (I had always found that sifting the seeds a little made them more visible and brought them down more readily). "Don't make those noises either." Oh! So bird noises don't attract birds. That's why people ALWAYS whistle and make bird noises to birds.
They're wrong.
Do you know, never once did I ask for any sort of advice from this guy? He never even gave me his name. He just walked right up to me out of nowhere, Mr. Learned and Omniscient Outdoorsman Who Knows A Hell of a Lot More About Blackbirds Than I Do, and just merrily said, "you're doing it wrong, you're doing it wrong, you're doing it wrong" - and, moreover, "I know how to do it right, and now I'm going to tell you how so you can stop making a complete fool of yourself."
I didn't fully realize I was a victim of mansplaining until I got in the car. On the way home I began to boil. "I wish that son-of-a-bitch could have SEEN me that day in August when I had a large male blackbird on EACH HAND, and then a female blackbird intercepted and knocked one of the males off. I wish that son-of-a-bitch knew that I've been attracting and feeding blackbirds out of my hand since the first day I came here! I wish that son-of-a-bitch knew he had the WRONG BLACKBIRD when he said 'that guy's super-friendly'. It could have been any blackbird. In fact, it WAS just any blackbird. He probably knew that and did it just to shame me and make me feel like a loser!"
Asshole!
I think he was a little bit surprised that I didn't thank him. I think he was a little bit surprised that I didn't clasp my hands beside my face and say, "Ohhhhhhhhh, Mr. Blackbird Expert! THANK you for saving my afternoon by pointing out all my mistakes to me and saving me from my own obvious helplessness and inadequacy. And here I didn't even have to ask!"
My only consolation is that I know from the pit of my stomach that this creep has NEVER fed two, no, THREE blackbirds at the same time, has probably never even fed ONE. He has probably spent his life walking up to people just to point out how inept they are and setting them straight.
No! Not walking up to people. Walking up to women!
Because no guy would ever take the shit I took from this pompous idiot. Because he does not even walk UP to men like that - just women - weak little, simpering little, non-blackbird-feeding women. He probably walked away swelling with self-importance and satisfaction and felt he'd done his fucking duty for the day.
I would say I hope I never see him again, but no. I hope I see him again. I hope I see him when I have two blackbirds on each hand, and one on my shoulder, looking like St. Francis of Fucking Assisi.
But by then he will have conveniently forgotten who I am - or, worse, he'll think to himself,: hmmmmmmmm!She must have taken my advice! (Please note. All videos and gifs on this post are of ME with BLACKBIRDS. Super-friendly, aren't they?)
This is Baby's First Video, the first time I ever tried to work with the video camera: and all at once, a Steller's jay, a squirrel and a flicker showed up! After this I more or less figured out how to work with a tripod, so the worst of the shakes ended. Gifs to follow!
